A quick note: any medical or mechanical inaccuracies are my own. I am neither a medical professional or a mechanic!
Enjoy!
oOo
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Dean lay sprawled across the sofa, face buried in a soft, patterned cushion, one arm hanging off the side, his long legs spilling over the armrest. His mouth was open, face completely relaxed, hair sticking up in multiple directions. An old embroidered quilt, the homemade kind that was covered in a mish mash of squares cut from different colours, covered him as he slept.
Claire hunched down next to his head, studying his face, a small smile lightening her features. She had come to love Jody and, even deep down, Alex; she tolerated Castiel as best she could, but she had the upmost respect for the Winchesters. They didn't treat her like a kid, didn't tell her that she should be normal. She knew they respected her. She didn't like seeing them worry; she wanted to help. Yet, even she conceded that this hunt was beyond her. Finding Sam was too important for her amateurish skills. The bits and pieces she had overhead last night left her cold. Claire had begun to think that the Winchesters could do anything and the thought that Dean was struggling, getting nowhere, filled her with dismay.
She held the steaming cup of coffee closer to Dean's nose, wafting it gently with her other hand. Her smiled widened to a grin when she saw his nose twitch, the strong aroma breaking through the veil of his dreams. The arm that had fallen off the sofa jerked up suddenly, forcing Claire to withdraw the mug quickly before he knocked it, his hand rubbing at his face, a guttural groan escaping his throat.
Green eyes eased open and Dean blinked, his eyes screwing up when a large blurry face filled his vision. He blinked again, Claire's face coming into focus.
"I thought you could probably do with some coffee" she offered, holding it up as he jolted upright. She laughed at the sight of his flattened hair sticking up like a lopsided Mohawk. He flung back the quilt, swatting at his unruly hair with his hand as he took the proffered beverage.
"Aren't teenagers meant to stay in bed until midday?" he muttered, taking a swig of the burning liquid. It was black and strong, coursing through him immediately.
"Probably. But Jody wants us packed and gone by eight" Claire replied, sitting on the pouf, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees.
"Yes she does," Jody's voice rang through from the kitchen, "and somehow I don't think you're gonna be ready if you sit there making small talk, Claire Novak! Go get the rest of your stuff or I'll pack the first things I find!"
"Jeez. If she does that, I'll be wearing Alex's crap for a week" Claire grumbled, scampering off. Dean laughed into the mug, downing the remainder of the drink. He'd needed it. It had been late when they'd got back to Jody's house and, even then, he had stayed up later than the sheriff and her girls, his mind unable to shut off its protective mode. Only after Castiel reassured him for the hundredth time that he would stand watch did the hunter finally concede.
He got up, wandering into the kitchen to find the smell of waffles, which had been masked by the scent of his coffee, was mouth-watering. Jody stood by her waffle iron, removing another batch and putting it on a plate.
"Mornin' sunshine" she said with a smile, gesturing to the table. Cas was already sat there, his gaze watching out of the window, clearly lost in thought. Dean sat down as Jody laid the plate of waffles in front of him, a side of bacon and bottle of maple syrup appearing.
"This is awesome, thanks" he grinned, tipping the bottle of syrup up, drenching his waffles.
"There's more if you want them. Figured you'd need enough to keep you going" Jody replied, settling in at the table with her own breakfast. Dean forked a huge square into his mouth, moaning appreciatively as he chewed. Jody looked at him in both amusement and surprise.
"I only get waffles if I make them. Sam sucks at cookin'."
Jody laughed. "I thought he was good at everything."
Dean shook his head and swallowed. "Nope. Burns everythin' he touches; it's one of the saddest things you'll ever see. It's like a food massacre." Jody chuckled, the sound comforting and homely. The three fell into companionable silence as they ate.
Finishing the last of his bacon, Dean mopped up the rest of the syrup with the final piece of waffle. He gave a satisfied sigh and turned his attention to his second cup of coffee.
"Have you got everythin' you need to stay at the cabin until this is over?" he asked.
"The girls do. Besides, with me still coming into town, we'll have enough."
"Jody…"
"No, Dean," she said sharply, putting her mug down and staring straight at the hunter. "I can't just up and leave. I know we think Scott's killer is connected to you but I can't go. I won't. Scott deserves justice and I might find something that will help you.
"The girls will be safe; I wouldn't leave them if I didn't think they would be. They know to check in with me every hour. The sooner we find out who's orchestrating all of this, the sooner we get Sam back and the sooner we can go back to normal."
He knew she was right. Knew it and hated it. And yet, Jody was nothing if not stubborn; she would do what she thought was best and Dean had to accept that.
"Alright. Cas will follow you though."
"What about you?" the angel asked, finally breaking his own reverie. Dean shook his head.
"Something in my gut tells me this guy – woman – whatever – is close. If I'm right, they'll follow me. I don't want them to know where you're goin'. It's safer this way."
"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" Jody asked, raising an eyebrow. Dean swigged the last of the coffee and stood up.
"Not if I can help it."
oOo
Kensington, London
"Miss Toni, if I may…" Thomas started as he stood watching the Woman of Letters arranging her tools on a cart. They were both stood in the observation room adjacent to Sam's cell.
"What is it, Thomas?" Toni snapped, her eyes remaining focused on the equipment she was preparing.
"I don't wish to sound impertinent, but could I suggest you leave your ministrations for another time? As I informed you a week ago: Sam hasn't been eating or drinking properly. He appears to be rather weakened; I'm concerned that an intense session will do a lot more harm than good."
"And as I told you: if he is choosing not to eat then that is his problem. He'll give in eventually. They always do. I think a session is exactly what's needed" Toni replied, her tone flat. Thomas stared at her, unconvinced. Sam Winchester had already proved her theory wrong; he hadn't given in to her and wasn't showing any signs of doing so. "Now, kindly go about your duties in the main house. I'll probably call for you in an hour or two."
Thomas inclined his head and stepped backwards towards the door. "Very good, madam." With one last glance towards Sam, he left.
oOo
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Dean had watched Jody and Castiel leave, Alex and Claire concealed in the backseat of Cas' rental, having entered through the garage. The Impala stayed sat on the driveway, a clear flag that the Winchester hadn't left the house with the others. Cas and Jody had left together but would soon split up, both taking winding routes to get to one of the old hunter cabins Bobby had kept close by. Whoever it was would have needed to do some serious research to even hazard a guess at where they'd gone. Which is exactly what Dean wanted. The niggle at the back of his mind continued to prod the paranoia within him; he was convinced that if their mystery assailant was still in town, they were there for Dean not Jody. Yet Dean also knew how easily someone would try to use them as bait. He wouldn't risk that.
He'd been sat, waiting, for two hours now. Two hours and absolutely nothing had happened. To be honest, he hadn't known what to expect, just…something. Cas had called, announcing their safe arrival at the cabin but that was it. Now he was restless; there were other things he could be doing than waiting for some imaginary person to continue hiding.
Grabbing the keys to the Impala, Dean slung on his suit jacket, heading out the door. The Impala's hinges squealed as he got in, the suspension dropping slightly under his weight. Starting the ignition, the comforting roar washed over the Winchester, easing the tension that was thrumming through him. Slinging his arm over the backrest, Dean reversed out before heading back towards the centre of Sioux Falls.
oOo
Scott's house was still a hive of activity with police tape cordoning off the property to the public, an armed officer stood at the door. Most of the forensics team had finished, but there was still a lot to do; when it was one of their own, the department made sure to go over everything with all the resources they had at their disposal. Scott's body had been removed the day before, leaving the stained furniture and coagulated blood pool as the main remnants of what had happened. Dean stood to one side, his arms crossed as he surveyed the gruesome scene before him.
"Early analysis concludes that it was a knife attack; clean, one stroke. Whoever it is has clearly done it before" the forensic technician explained, scrolling through the notes on his phone. "The blood spatter indicates that it was done from behind." His voice faltered, losing the professional edge he was trying to use to keep his emotions in check. "You'll forgive the language, agent, but the perp was a cowardly son of a bitch. Scott didn't ever do anything but help people. I hope he fries."
"Don't worry, when I'm through with him, he will" Dean reassured him, iron coating his voice. He'd come to the scene, a part of him wondering whether he was going to find anything pointing to the supernatural: sigils, sulphur, anything. But there wasn't. The killer was clearly human with human methods of killing. That crossed yet another theory off of the list; supernatural involvement was a no go. Dean had never really believed it was in the first place since the bunker was supposed to be warded against everything evil. But then, they were supposed to be the only ones with a key so go figure.
He clapped a hand on the technician's shoulder before leaving the room. He walked out to the backyard, surveying it carefully. It was enclosed by a six-foot fence on three sides, an unbolted gate on the side. No one would have seen anything. The poor kid would have been totally cut off – there was no one nearby to help him. Dean's fists clenched as he stalked back around the front to the Impala.
oOo
Kensington, London
Sam didn't know the cause of it, but Toni had been especially quiet. Normally, she would have asked her questions over and over again by now, but today she hadn't. Yet her quietness couldn't be mistaken for thoughtfulness or even weariness. He'd learned long ago that when Toni was quiet, she was livid. When she screamed and raved at him, she was angry. But she was the type of woman whose true anger simmered and bubbled beneath a carefully constructed mask. The very one she wore now.
Coupling that with the fact that her favourite toy was in her hand and Sam knew he was in trouble.
His whole body quivered and jerked, covered in a thin coat of sweat that shone under the harsh strip lights above him. It dribbled down through his hairline, soaking the back of his neck. The manacles around his wrists dug in painfully; they were the only things holding him up. Angry blisters were already forming across his naked stomach, adding yet another layer to the agony he had already endured.
He didn't have the strength for this.
Toni stood before him, holding her torch a few inches from his face, letting the heat bite at his skin, the rushing and spitting noise drilling into him. The bluish flames flicked to a point at the end and he tried to lean back, tried to move away, when she slowly lowered it, inching it closer and closer to his skin. The smell of burning hair filtered between them as the blowtorch caught the fine hairs on his chest.
She studied his physique, noting the stark differences to the hunter she had captured months ago. He was thin, almost devastatingly so now – his ribs becoming visible beneath his skin which had a greyish sheen to it. Maybe Thomas was right. Clearly the hunter had been rationing more than she'd thought. If she wasn't careful, it would seem that he was in fact stubborn enough to starve himself.
"What do you say, Sam? Have you changed your mind?" she asked softly, her eyes following the trail of blue. Sam said nothing. The heat got worse. "Come on, Sam; give me something" she crooned. When he didn't reply, she finally drew the torch across his abdomen horizontally, letting the fire touch his skin. A strangled screech ripped from his throat, his body lurching, trying to get away from the flame. "There you go; that wasn't so hard was it?" she smiled, voice drowned out by his scream. Her gaze flicked up to his face. His eyes were screwed shut, his beautiful features contorted in agony. She watched as his expression dropped, his whole body slumping, suspended by the shackles above his head, head lolling forward. Toni removed the torch, sighing in annoyance. She turned it off, putting it to one side as she grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, yanking his head up. She slapped him, trying to rouse him.
Nothing.
Grabbing a glass of water, she tried flinging that at him. Still nothing.
"Well that was disappointing" she sighed, rolling her eyes. She looked at her watch: twenty minutes. Most disappointing, indeed.
oOo
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Dean pulled away, fingers tapping against the steering wheel rhythmically even though the radio was off. All that the crime scene had managed to do was convince him that the person he was after was cold and dispassionate, both of which he'd already concluded. Yet the more they uncovered, the more he was sure that this was a group; too much was going on. And it had all restarted since he'd got that blood tested. Whoever it was hadn't been counting on him finding the blood.
"Son of a bitch" the hunter cursed quietly when realisation hit him. Whoever it was had never cleaned the blood off because they hadn't expected anyone to go back to the bunker.
They hadn't expected Dean to be alive.
He grabbed his phone, dialling Cas' number without taking his eyes from the road. The angel picked up on the first ring.
"Dean, are you alright?"
"I'm fine. I didn't get much from Jody's tech guy's crime scene. Look, I need you to do some brain stormin' about who knew – or could've known – about our plan against Amara. I want plausible ideas and complete guesses; we need to start thinking further outta the box" Dean instructed as he steered through a junction, frowning when he felt the Impala judder.
"I'll do my best. I'm sure Claire and Alex will be useful. Claire is very taken with the idea of conspiracy theories" Cas replied as the Impala lurched again.
"What the hell?" Dean growled, steering the car towards the nearest parking lot – the Fryn' Pan restaurant.
"What's wrong?"
"I dunno. Baby's havin' a moment. I'll call you back" Dean grumbled, cutting the engine and getting out of the car. He slid his phone back into his pocket and looked around him. The road was busy, cars zooming past in the usual midday traffic when everyone left work in search of lunch. The Fryn' Pan's parking lot was peppered with cars. It was busy; he was fine.
The Winchester popped the hood of the Impala, leaning in. His eyes scanned the engine casing, scrutinising everything he saw. No one knew the Impala like Dean; a single anomaly would stick out like a sore thumb to him. His initial scan showed nothing out of the ordinary. Balancing his palms on the metal of the bodywork, he leaned in further to get a look down the back.
"Everything alright, son?"
Dean jumped, cursing under his breath when he nearly smacked his head on the underside of the hood. Extracting himself, he turned to find a hunched old man stood near him, half-moon reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He wore a tan hat, wisps of tufty white hair fluffing out from beneath it. Years ago he would've been a tall man but now his back was hunched painfully beneath a fading jacket, his posture almost bent in half. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the man wheezed, his voice breathless even though he was stood still. "Looks like you're havin' some trouble."
"Yeah, just some loose connections, I think" Dean replied, giving a brief half smile. He locked gazes with the man who smiled gently up at him. He stuck his head back in, turning his back as the old man continued to chat.
"Always a problem with these older models. Nothing stays fixed. Used to have one of these back in '88; one of the best cars I ever had. Too crippled to be behind the wheel of one now."
Dean's fingers caught hold of the offending wire; it'd been loosened, giving it enough leverage to come loose with the vibrations of the road. He deftly put it back together, his mind calculating. He glanced quickly to the left then the right.
It was clear.
In one swift motion, he twisted, pulling his gun from under his jacket, turning and jamming it up under the old man's jaw, stopping him mid-ramble, his other hand grasping the back of his neck, holding his head in place.
"Where's my brother?" Dean snarled, his face inches from the old man's. His expression was one of abject terror – as you'd expect from someone who had a gun rammed into their jawline – yet somehow it looked…false. Staring, Dean realised why.
His eyes.
The cold grey was completely calm, void of anything. Dean could've been threatening him with a water pistol for all the concern that appeared in the dead steel facing him. Dean pressed harder, finger tightening on the trigger. "What have you done with Sam?" he roared.
A slow smile curved on the old man's face as he slowly rose to his full height, elevating him a couple of inches above Dean. Yet Dean's grip never slipped. But he wasn't prepared for the swing from his left, the man's fist connecting with the side of his head, knocking him sideways. His vision exploded as he staggered, hitting the front grill of the Impala. Another punch landed behind his ear, drilling him closer to the ground, ripping a gasp from his throat. He was down and did the only thing he could think of. Turning the gun, he fired. Heard the bang and howl from the man as the bullet ripped through his thigh. He staggered back. Dean shook his head, trying to clear the stars that bounced around his vision, aware of the sound running feet. Hauling himself up on the Impala, Dean turned and saw the man drop into his car, ignition starting and wheels screeching as he tore out of the parking lot. Dean slumped against Baby, breathing heavily.
"Son of a bitch" Dean gasped in frustration, his hand still wrapped tightly around his gun.
He'd escaped.
oOo
Fic trivia for you: The Fryn' Pan is a real restaurant in Sioux Falls!
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